


The Tale of the Grim Gardeners

by oh_cripe_my_fish



Category: Hetalia - Fandom, Hetalia: Axis Powers, Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Gen, I don't know how to tag crossovers, This Is STUPID
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 19:09:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20030890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_cripe_my_fish/pseuds/oh_cripe_my_fish
Summary: Waking from a long feverish sleep induced by war and a failing economy would be daunting for anyone. Even more daunting is waking to find three weirdos you've never seen before crowded around your bedside, claiming that you were teetering on the verge of death, that they're Grim Reapers and that they’re able reap your soul with gardening tools. It sounds very unlikely, but this exact scenario happened to the Personification of England.





	The Tale of the Grim Gardeners

**Author's Note:**

> Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya and Black Butler belongs to Yana Toboso.

England woke with a start, eyes struggling to focus on the tiled ceiling as he lay on his back, breathing deeply and trying to slow his pounding heart. He lay there, overwhelmed for a moment, ears still ringing with conflicts from his nightmares, feeling tangled and sticky in the thin, white and sterile bed sheets. His skin was oily and clammy from having a persistently high temperature, and his hair gritty from going three weeks unwashed.

"The dude's finally awake, hallelujah!-" A youthful voice of a male announced.

At first England thought it was America, with the enthusiasm and joviality, but then his slow and groggy mind remembered America was, in fact, _American_, and the American accent had been missing. How silly of him. This fellow was almost cockney.

_Or_. Or, maybe it_ was_ America with a _British_ accent and this was just another strange, scarily realistic dream. A dream so real he could smell the chemicals in the air and the nearby scent of bombed infrastructure.

"-Looks like I won't be missing my hot date tonight after all!" that same voice added, seemingly in high spirits.

"Aaahn, look at how pretty his eyes are~" spoke a second flowery voice, at a closer proximity than the first. "What a lovely shade of green, wouldn't you agree?"

"Uh, yeah, I guess, Senior Sutcliff? They're kinda a similar shade to ours-"

"_Pish posh_, Ronnie! Our eyes don't twinkle with the oak and ash forestry of England, nor the fertile patchwork farmland of a nation!” the second voice proclaimed with all the theatrics of France. “While I usually could care less about this dreary, disease ridden mortal world and its countries, I feel oddly patriotic around him! How strange"

England was ashamed at how long it took for him to realize those voices were actually real and not the voices of people, dead or alive, or of nations, friend or foe, in his confusing dreams. Feeling slightly delirious and light headed, his eyes widened and he tensed, laying frozen stiff, noticing not two, but three blurred figures in the corner of his vision. The closest was a bright smudge of red. They didn't seem to realize his attention as they continued to chatter on aimlessly.

"I gotta admit - I don’t see the same twinkling eyes as you, ma’am." The young man spoke again. "He's got Death's good looks, as they say. Ya ‘av to be seeing things..." he pauses and there's shuffling of feet getting closer to him. "They kinda look a little dull to me..."

"Shame about the eyebrows though." The flamboyant second voice said in disappointment, not listening to his peer. "He'd be so much more attractive without them."

And that small sentence had England inhaling his fighting spirit again. Insulting his eyebrows was far below the belt. After clearing his vision slightly with a couple of forced blinks, he groaned and moaned quietly as he struggled to lift himself onto his elbows, his very bones aching.

"But you know what they say about men with big eyebrows, mmhm~?"

‘Ronnie’ groaned in exasperation. “I thought the saying was supposed to be about big feet equalling a larger manhood."

“No- I meant _big brows,_ _barely bearable ego_, you numbskull! Although _I wish_ that was that was case,” the flamboyant one deemed a Senior continued on wistfully. “Otherwise my tryst with Steven from Scythe Maintenance and Engineering back in my Academy days might’ve actually been enjoyable. He had such impressive eyebrows, but his-“

“TMI! TMI!” the other cried hastily.

"Sutcliff, Knox! This isn't the time." A new enunciated voice interrupted, clipped and unimpressed. The third person in England's company seemed much chillier than the other two. "Our target is coming around and we must see to it that his soul is tended to and detailed correctly. If you two would focus for once!"

England paused in levering himself upright, mid wince, face screwed up in pain. Regardless how weak and fragile he felt, there was no way he would take a conversation revolving around the size of his eyebrows lying down – wait, what now!? What did the third voice say about dealing with his soul?

"You're just jealous of his eyes, Willy~ Jealous because I could possibly like his little blinkers more than yours-"

"Stop being absurd, Sutcliff."

The youngest one barked out a short and sweet laugh. “Senior Spear's eyes are green with jealously. Haha, get it? _Green_ with jealously?"

There was a long unimpressed and silence, not amused in the slightest, the other two regarding him for a moment while England was busy gaining his bearings, getting to grips with his spinning head from sitting up too fast, wetting his hacked lips, readying himself to holler his question on what the bloody hell was going on.

"It was a pun. Like, there's that saying, you know the one? And Reapers eyes are literally green?"

Still, the silence became more established. England’s vision filled cleared enough for him to properly detail the room around him, rather than settle for the smudge of blurred outlines it had been minutes before.

"It was supposed to be a joke…" muttered the younger one dejectedly.

"I don't ever intend to break your heart Ronnie, but I'm not even going to waste my energy _pretending_ that was funny." replied the flowery red haired man - or woman? England wasn't sure. In fact, the voice of the ginger wasn't particularly masculine either - tone flat and face the picture of a deadpan. There was a girlish giggle shortly after, just as England was struggling to shuffle upright to sit on his bottom. He barely had time to take a good long look at his unexplained company when he curled in on himself, hanging his head low to deal with the aches and pains of his spine and neck.

"-As for Will, the he laughs will be the day he becomes bosom buddies with every demon in Hell. I’ve never, not once, seen him crack a smile~”

"That's enough Sutcliff! I can speak for myself."

“Oooh I just _love_ that about you, so emotionally inexpressive, so _cold_! Aaahn, it make my heart flutter like a hummingbird’s wings-”

“Please refrain from talking. We have work to do, Sutcliff.”

"Hey guys? I don't mean to interrupt the impending lover's quarrel, but the England bloke's up and running..." supplied the blond young man England assumed to be 'Ronnie'. "Not literally. I mean, he'll being chillin' in that bed for a while and stuff, cause I just heard his bones creak like an old piece of furniture on its last legs and..."

While William turned his full attention to the rookie reaper and the personified nation, Grell ignored him and his voice lilted with the weight of other R-rated things on his mind.

"If I continue to speak on your behalf, could you rough me up a little bit, Will darling~?"

The bare reply was simply, "As you wish."

"Helloooooo, Senior Spears, Senior Sutcliff? I am _right here. _Are the two of you that old that you've developed shitty hearing along with your extra crappy eyesight_?_"

And England's head snapped up with a viscous click of his spine at the sharp whack he heard reverberate around the room, being the brutal percussion to a loud melodic cry of pain.

The Englishman looked on, abashed and downright disturbed to find a completely decked-out-in-red person yelping and whimpering with his hands over his head of impressively long ginger hair, protectively. Another towering man stood on the other side of his bed- stiff, stoic and irked. The raven haired man stood over him like a shadow, having decided to approach closer as England became more conscious. The nation was astonished to see an extended poll zipping across his bed, holding the overbearingly-red man by the ear. England's eyes then locked with glowing jade and topaz of a blonde and stylish young man, smiling a small rueful smile at him as if to say _"Sorry for interrupting your slumber_."

A chainsaw was locked between the redhead's knees, while blondie casually rested up against the handle of a lawnmower and the black haired man was currently injuring his comrade's ear with an especially sharp extendable garden pruner. It seemed like they were decked out perfectly to tend the gardens at Buckingham.

And England couldn't deny he felt very intimidated and very confused at the sight of the sharp, potentially harmful tools. An urban hospital was no place for gardeners.

"Who the bloody Hell are you weirdos!?" he hollered.

The sudden presence of his bellowing voice grabbed the attention of everyone and a triple set of heads turned his way, three sets of glasses glinting brightly in the dim light of the small hospital room. Bristling when he didn't receive a solid answer straight away, either because they weren't expecting such a forceful shout to emerge from someone who has been so weak beforehand, or because they were too busy harbouring hostility over his insult, he didn't know, but England continued on as other thoughts raced through his sharpening mind on why three strangers would being standing at his bedside with gardening tools.

"If the Frog thought it would be funny to send you three to make jokes about "tackling my eyebrows", then return to the French bastard and tell him to shove that chainsaw _up his arse_, because I am in _no bloody mood_ to deal with his bloody bollocks today!"

Now, there was no doubting Grell Sutcliff loved things being shoved in holes, but even that statement made him wince as he pictured it avidly.

"Oh how gruesome you are. Not even kinky could cover that~" Grell joked with a lewd grin, peering over the top of his red glasses and twirling over 2.0 meters long of hair around his finger. _"_Your Frog has got himself a freak. That's a compliment by the way!"

England tried his best to maintain his threatening glare, but was thoroughly gobsmacked at such an open and raucous reply. Eventually he flushed while trying to bravely stare down the lidded and lewd catlike eyes of the red one, and quickly diverted his eyes to study Ronald's lawnmower, the bi-coloured haired blond snickering to himself at what had been said.

He was startled even more when William promptly reacted to the comment in England's favour and smacked Grell square on the head with a quick reprimand on upholding professionalism, and hard this time. England gaped as blood spurted out like a drinking fountain. The ginger was pained but he didn't seem too dazed as his complaining turned into heated moans and he gave a little wiggle.

"Enough of your obscene comments Sutcliff, act more professionally and less inappropriately."

"Aaaaahn William~ But why would I want to? If you keep pounding me like that, I won't be able to walk for the rest of the day and surely that's an achievement~?"

A routine smack and unimpressed reprimand followed, followed by another innuendo, followed by another smack, followed by another especially strained and croaky innuendo, followed by a loud shatter and a raining shower of glass as the redhead was tossed out the window by the raven haired man's extendable pruner.

England yelled in alarm and jerked to sit up straighter and the other blonde in the room dashed to the broken window in a fret.

"Holy shit Senior Spears! Do you know we're on the sixth floor?!" the youngest looking lad cried.

"I'm aware."

"W-w-what is wrong with you!? you're insane!" The British nation accused in horror. "What possessed you to throw an innocent man, um, woman- What possessed you to throw an innocent person to their death!?" England was on his feet now, approaching an unconcerned William with balled fists. He limped with each step he took, but something so simple wouldn't stop the nation. "And what the hell do you bastards want with me!? Explain yourselves!"

"You have been teetering on Death's edge for three full weeks now. And we are here to fulfill our rolls as Grim Reapers." The black haired William, what England now knew to be a _Grim_ bloody_ Reaper_, answered and pushed his glasses up his nose, preparing himself to give a more coherent and satisfying answer just when the door to England's private room was flung open.

"What on earth is going on in here-!?" cried a nurse as she studied the surroundings with eyes like saucers, having heard the commotion in passing. She immediately saw the glass strewn across the floor and on top of the medical equipment. "Good God!"

With an urgent and questioning look on her face, she stared at England for an answer and he stuttered and stared back like a deer in headlights when all his fury flooded from him, before he finally gained his composure.

"It's not what it looks like! It wasn't me! It was-" but England froze when he finally looked around and searched the room for the source of all his troubles, discovering there wasn't a sign of the three people anywhere.

"It was who?" her voice was getting more high pitched as she realized this patient might be delirious. "The tooth fairy!?"

"I, er, no, of course not, but-!"

"Excuse me one moment!" She blatantly turned her back on the Englishman and scampered out the door.

Before England knew it, America had been shoved into the room with him, his face the picture of confusion as he guzzled some instant coffee from a china cup in a manner a gentleman like England would call unrefined, his gloved hands cupped around the curves instead of holding the handle.

"Oh hey old man! Didn't know your nap was finished. I just had to go get some lunch so yeah! Sup?"

"This man claims to be visiting you." She said to England before turning her attention to America. "Keep a close eye on this patient please while I go and get someone to supervise, re-room him and someone else to clean up this mess."

"Sure thing, ma'am." he beamed his American smile at the nurse and shot her a cheesy wink before she thanked him and dashed out the door.

When she was finally gone America raised his eyebrows and fought the amused smile fighting to break out onto his face, his piercing blue eyes moved from the shattered glass to England's face and finally fixated themselves of England's long hospital nightshirt. Talking a gulp of coffee and stuffing his other hand in his pocket, America's blue eyes shone with laughter, much to England's chagrin. Would this torturous day ever end?

"What so amusing, twit?" England huffed defiantly, folding his arms in front of him and staring at him stubbornly.

"You look hilarious in that gown, dude." the American admitted.

"Oh, shut up, will you? I hardly care about what I look like right now." Trust America to focus on the more important things in life... but at least England wouldn't have to tell him that he had just seen three strange bespectacled strangers with gardening equipment dressed like they were from the distant future and definitely not the 1940s... even when it was more believable than telling him flying green rabbits and faerie's were actually real.

"Dude, is that your lipstick to go with the gown?" the American rounded the foot of the bed, plucking it from among the shards of glass. He gave the shards a curious and lingering look, but decided it was probably best if he didn't question the other nation about it. England did a lot of weird things, and breaking hospital windows was far more normal than his demon rituals, and considering the situation of the Englishman just barely scraping by in world war 2? Understandable too.

"What lipstick?" England asked, confused for a second before following the American, being careful to avoid slicing his foot, before snatching the lipstick from America's hand and yanking the lid off.

"Red? Very saucy."

"Oh, _please_. Shut up." England grumbled grumpily as he pushed past the American with the intention of peering out the window. When he looked down, he was baffled that the body adorned in the red coat was nowhere to be seen.

"Alfred... I think I might be going mad."

Snorting, America took another large slurp from his coffee. "Tell me something I didn't already know, hahah!"

England's glowering was interrupted by the door being flung open. America flinched, and England didn't miss the way his hand trembled for a few minutes after it... clearly the Nazi war had taken a toll on the American too, even if he'd taken less damage than the European countries.

England blanched and spluttered when the blonde young man waltzed in with a big grin, making his way over to England and plucking the lipstick from his hand.

"Sorry Big-Brows but Sutcliff senpai wanted his lipstick back."

Soon England's shock had been substituted for relief as he cried ecstatically, "Look Alfred, I'm not mad After all! Look at the fellow! It was his friend that broke my window! Oh blimey, I'm so relieved! Who knew I was still sane!?"

But America's face had paled to an unhealthy shade, and his eyes bulged like he'd seen a ghost. All he could see was a floating lipstick, not the hand nor the man attached to the hand.

"Alfred?"

"Holy shit, fucking shit dude, dude! Dude! a ghost ! This hospital is fucking HAUNTED! Oh my god oh my god I'm sorry Jesus for all my sins, I'm so sorry!"

"America calm dow-"

"Fuck England what do we do?! We don't have any artillery! Salt?! Crap there might be some salt in the canteen-! I'll be back!"

"America, there isn't a ghost! And salt only prevents demons from entering buildings or attacking you! No wait! where are you going?! wait-!" but England was completely ignored as the door slammed shut and he flinched before realization set in and two Emerald scornful eyes looked Ronald up and down.

"He can't see you..."

Ronald laughed awkwardly and scratched the back of his head. "Funny thing, that... Selective visibility." The blond paused, coming across as a little bit conflicted on what to say next. "To be honest? I'm not exactly sure what I can and can't tell you."

"Luckily," began a familiar voice. "l actually paid attention during our Academy days, Knox, and during the most recent retraining program to know the book of Reaper Realm Regulation down to it's very last word," When the tall raven haired man stepped from the shadows of the room, he startled England more than need be. "Like any decent employee with any sort of working ambition-whatsoever would."

This 'Will' fellow had been there the whole time? With the nurse and all?

The dark haired man approached closer than any of the three had done previously, England could see every hair and flaw on his face, not that there was many. His eyes were definitely two colours too... A ring of green, a ring of yellow. How odd. Everything about the man was as mysterious and he was odd, too.

"Nerd." Ronald mumbled under his breath and William's eyebrow twitched up the tiniest bit, the only indication that he'd heard it.

"Reaper Regulation? Great, just great. " Sarcasm was occasionally a coping mechanism for the English nation. "Grim Reapers. Just fabulous." England was stunned for a moment, doubting how these men in their suits could be Grim Reapers. Although the tailor's cut and style was nothing like he'd seen before. They almost seemed ahead of their time, especially the blondie. "Then... that explains how you knew me as England. Enlighten me, what do Reapers want with a nation? Surely I'm not going to die soon?"

"It seems you've survived the worst of this war, you'll live on, yes," William supplies, a huge, bulging binder now somehow in place of the pruner. How had England not noticed this... was that his human name on the front? "When regarding a nation, our role is much more versatile and varied in comparison to collecting and documenting a human soul."

"Basically, my Chilly Willy is saying that we've been watching you sleep for the three whole weeks you have been bed-ridden, making notes on the circumstances of what looked like to humans a physically probable yet to reapers? A statistically unlikely death, judging by your past records. You lot don’t seem to die very often, do you?” England flinched when the red reaper pranced into the room, unscathed, grin terrifyingly large. “We watched you on rounds, of course. I have too much of a social life to sit by an old man's beside for three weeks." The redhead perched himself on England's bed and crossed one leg over the other, bouncing a heel-booted foot. He smiled over at England, who backed up at the sinister knashers poking out from slicked red lips. "You look great, by the way. What's your secret? Anti-wrinkle formulae? A specific fruit and veg, high vitamin facemask?" He smirked and wiggled his shoulders, bending forward. "I just _have_ to know-"

"Enough." William covered Grell's mouth with a gloved hand and England watched the red Grim Reaper's brows rise suggestively. "But you didn't die, so we're done here." The raven reaper declares to England, shifting to stare at the blond. His hand clenches down on the red one's chin tighter when he tries to say something through his fingers. "Knox, have you collected your souls in this area?"

"Yessir!" The young man says perkily with a salute.

"Sutcliff?" The ginger shakes his head and William removes his hand. "Explain yourself."

The grin the raven haired man is on the receiving end of was maniac. Standing, he drapes his red clad arms over black clad shoulders, walking long piano fingers up the others suited chest. "You know how easily a girl can be distracted by pretty things."

England watches as the ginger babbles evocatively about shoe and lingerie shopping, stopping for a quick tango with his "favourite tantalizing, tenacious demon". England's hearing becomes much more tentative after that point.

Suddenly there's a racket coming from the hallway, doctors and nurses rushing up and down the hall gathering supplies and equipment. There's shouts of, "her heart's giving out" and "The sheer blood loss is making survival more unlikely! A few more minutes and she'll go into shock! Quickly! Get the surgeon! Someone fetch adrenaline!"

England's attention is won by the ginger squealing. "And Will? I still have a few more souls to reap today! This one will be my curtain call~" The rev of a chainsaw startles England to his feet as the ginger bounds for the door. England and the other two follow as the door is flung open to reveal America standing with his arms full of salt, watching on concerned as staff rush around him and into the room beside England's. When an unknown force bowls him over, the sheer look on his face is all England needs to see to know that the American is most like scared for centuries to come.

Looking away from the reapers for a fraction of a second to extend a hand to America and pull him to his feet, the moment he looks up, they're alone again. The hallway is clear now as the commotion is concentrated in the room beside them.

"Dude? Did you see that!? I think the dead are rising- This has got to be the start of some sort of undead apocalypse. Iggy, what if there's _zombies_? We gotta get out of here!" America rambles as he takes England by the wrist and drags a frantically searching England to the lobby, arse on display through the back of his hospital gown. He's plagued with too many questions to care about his dignity. "Don't worry man, the hero's got you."

"Great," he says distractedly while they're passing out the front entrance into the war weary streets of London. The blond reaper is waving him off by the door, giving a thumbs up of approval and a cheeky wink at the sight of England's pale bottom and England bristles, firing curses and making rude gestures at what seems like to America an empty spot beside the entrance.

The clock hands read 12:21PM and the afternoon news of BBC 1 plays lowly in the background.

A sip of tea. A clink of china. The silence remains between them. England blinks once, twice, a third time, then his brow furrows in annoyance at the staring he's on the receiving end of.

"Don't taint me with your ogling," the Englishman grumbles, narrowing his eyes at his company. "and close your mouth, it's disgusting." He lifts the tea to his lips once more, mumbling against the rim.

France was frozen mid chew (he's eating a French pastry, of course. He never comes to England's house expecting hospitality, and even if the Englishman did suddenly decide to be hospitable, France would sooner die than eat anything England owned ) as England's weird and wacky story came to an end. There are multiple questions he wants to ask, like how strong England's morphine dosage had been back then, or what England was currently smoking to even breath something so silly aloud. Was England sure it wasn’t a dream induced by delirium? But he has to prioritise his questions, so instead he says,

"I would like you to elaborate on how, exactly, I remind you of the sexually deprived ginger with a mouth like jaws?"

"Well, where do I even begin."

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this yonks ago. It’s already on another fic website. Thought it was about time I dumped it here too. Gosh, this needs TONS of editing but I’m too lazy.


End file.
